Asterism
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He knuckled the ginger hair under his chin, hating himself for not just coming out and saying it. He'd been struggling with it for months. Like an itch he couldn't quite reach to scratch. He knew it wasn't like him. He didn't beat around the bush about anything, even the gushy difficult crap.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Set a few months after the end of season five in the ASZ. Requested by pia-lexandra who asked for Abraham and Rosita smut.

**Warnings:** *****Contains: adult language, smut, mild angst, vague mention to fem-slash/possible future open relationship/threesome with a homosexual character, allusions to Tara/Rosita.

**Asterism**

"I wouldn't mind," he started, wetting his lips as he watched her undress for bed. Getting hung up, despite his best efforts, as she shimmied out of her tight slacks and purple button up and into the slinky, shimmering blue nightdress he'd snagged for her on a whim a few months before they'd joined with Rick and the rest of 'em.

He liked the way it felt on his skin.

_On her skin._

He liked the way the satin-static clung to the milky-tan of her thighs. And, if he was being honest, he liked it even better when he was hiking it off, tossing it to the floor as she arched enticingly underneath him. Bringing a whole new meaning to the word _'unwrapping'_ as he treated himself to a body he knew like the back of his hand.

Strange as it was to admit, they'd done most of their talking with indulgent sighs, jerking hips and pleads for more. They'd done everything he'd done with his wife, backwards. They'd skipped right to dessert before mulling over the main course and sometimes he wondered if-

"You wouldn't mind what?" she hummed, shaking her hair free of its pony-tail, serenely unaware of the picture she was painting as his dick firmed up against his thigh, mostly hidden by the sheets from his sprawled out position on the bed. Muscles aching – but in a good way – from a long day's work on construction outside the wall.

_Oh hell, look at that, he'd gone and gotten distracted again._

He knuckled the ginger hair under his chin, hating himself for not just coming out and saying it. He'd been struggling with it for months. Like an itch he couldn't quite reach to scratch. He knew it wasn't like him. He didn't beat around the bush about anything, even the gushy difficult crap.

"Abraham?"

His gaze drifted back, re-focusing to find her lookin' at him, head cocked and curious, but with stress-lines starting to form around the plush of her lips like she just knew. _Oh, she knew alright. Damn girl could read him like an open book. Dog-eared pages and all._

"I know what she means to you, Tara, I mean," he tried again, blowing out a breath as he levered himself up and straightened, catching a glimpse of himself in the wall-length mirror, highlighted in all his naked ginger glory – dog tags glinting on his chest. Trying not to let the wince show as what felt like every muscle in his god damned body screeched out a negative.

"Hell, I've seen the way she looks at you. You two have been thick as thieves since she woke up from that damned coma. Even a blind man can see that," he edged, gut muscles flexing on reflex as he stretched, feeling the need to do _something_ as she watched him pace – patient - but not quite seeing what he was getting at.

"I'm a greedy, possessive bastard, darling," he ploughed on, mildly horrified they were even having this god damned conversation in the first place. "I don't share, but-"

_Son of a dick, he just wasn't good at this shit!_

He turned away, surprised to find his chest heaving. Surprised to realize that now that it was all out in the open, there was a premium on how much he didn't want this to end. On how much he'd be willing to do – to give up – just to keep her.

_Fucking fuck! When had that fuckin' happened?!_

She brought him back around when she went up on her tip-toes behind him. Settling for wrapping her hands around the small of his back when she couldn't reach his shoulders. He soaked it in for a while. Looking at the figure they cut in the mirror. Memorizing the moment like the sight in front of him was making like a fast disappearing horizon and only one of them had a parachute.

When he chanced a look back down, her smile was a mile-wide and open - like she did when she figured he was just yanking her chain – edging on the side of salacious as she waggled a finger at him with mock-disapproval.

"We can't play favorites with the children you know," she admonished, side-eying him significantly. All bubbling amusement as the slinky nightdress clung enticingly in all the right places. Encouraging him to run his hands down the flare of her hips as small hands guided him around where she wanted. "Besides, have you seen Eugene when he pouts? It's like-"

"I'm serious, Rose," he grated, knowing that if he took the out she was unknowingly offering he'd probably never have the balls to bring it up again.

She blinked, going still in his arms. The use of her name – rarely used and dusty, as he was coming to realize - getting her attention immediately as her chin tipped back, searching his face quickly before her amused expression fell.

"You are, aren't you?" she mused, soft and thoughtful, before moving away. Putting a politely measured distance between them as her hands settled on her hips, not angry but considering.

"I want you to be happy," he returned, steeling himself in fractions as her expression evolved into something he wasn't able to pin down. Feeling a weight settle in his chest when he thought about helping her pack up her stuff. About watching them together. _Happy. _He thought about being alone again. About not being the one to make her laugh. About-

He came screeching back to the present when she got a hold of his dog tags and tugged. Bringing him down, eye level, as she faced him with a frown, all five feet something and change.

"If I wanted to be anywhere else but right here, I _would_ be," she started, voice firm as she tugged again on his dog tags when he opened his mouth to reply with something that was probably less than smart.

"Yes, Tara is very important to me. _Yes._ I love her very much," she continued, keeping him leashed as she gave the chain a yank every other syllable or so. "But I also love _you_ and frankly, Tara is crushing on Francine right now and despite what you seem to have gotten stuck in that swiss-cheese brain of yours, I am happy with this – _you _– with what _we _have. And I don't plan on changing_ anything_ about that any time soon, understand?"

He blinked. Full on, honest to god, _staggered_ as he tried to figure out what part of that whole mess he wanted to tie himself up in knots about first. So distracted he didn't catch the tell-tale signs until it was too late.

"You're thinking too much, solider," she declared, eyes slanting - wicked - as she caught him off guard and pushed him backwards. Sending him free-falling through nothing until his back hit the mattress and she was clambering on top of him – stakin' her claim as long nails _scritch-scritched_ down his chest.

"Now do that thing with your tongue that makes me forget which country I'm in," she purred.

He had her down on the bed in less than half a second flat. Hiking her ass up, thighs spread wide as he licked his way into her. Growling roughly against her clit as she squealed, hands curling down his scalp, tugging at his hair as he gave his old lady _exactly_ what she was jonesing for.

_He was a good solider, after all._

_Great at following orders. _

_And that was the story he was sticking to._

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.

**Reference:**

_*Asterism_: any prominent star pattern that isn't a whole constellation, e.g. the Big Dipper, the Northern Cross. (In other words, an allusion towards feelings of in-completion.)


End file.
